A Collision of Chaos
by UchiHime
Summary: Everyone has their own chaos to deal with. Sometimes Isaac feels like he's drowning in his, but then Stiles takes it all away. And it's good. But he hates it. And he can't get away from it.


**UchiSays: **So, usually I only post my Teen Wolf stories on AO3, but I decided to make and exception for this one for a couple reasons I won't bother explaining. This is my first ever Stisaac fic and I'm extremely proud of it. I hope you all enjoy it and review. If you want to read more of my Teen Wolf (Sterek) fics, there are links on my profile.

~Itami

* * *

**A Collision of Chaos**

Isaac tapped his fingers against the table as he stared down at the black white paper in front of him. He casually extended his claws to change the dull thumps of his fingers against the wood into sharp clicks that he found more pleasant. He closed his eyes and listened to the simple sound. A gentle flex of will had his claws retracted and the thumping of fingers returned. Another flex and he heard the clicking of claws once more. He alternated the sounds randomly. Fine-tuning his control over his wolf in a simple way.

He could still see the blank white paper emblazoned on the inside of his eyelids. If only he could replace that image with a flex of will as easily as he could his claws. But no. Try as he might, he could not bring to mind an image to replace that terrible whiteness.

He tried to ignore both the paper on the table and the one in his mind, focusing instead on the rhythmic tapping of his fingers still randomly interspersing it with his claws. Switching between the two was a simple as breathing now.

_Thump. Thump. Thump. Click. Click. Thump. Click. Click. Click. Click. Thump. Thump._

Simple.

Sometimes he needed simple things. Stress free tasks that he could focus his mind on to keep it occupied from other, not to simple things. Simple things like tapping his finger or brushing his teeth. Ironing his clothes or combing his hair. Simple things that were usually done with little to no thought became the focus of his entire being for a few minutes.

If he didn't intersperse simplicity with the chaos of his life, he wouldn't be able to hold his sanity much longer. Sanity was such a fragile thing. Like a little soap bubble. The tiniest pressure could make it pop. Or maybe it was more like a dandelion puff. A slight breeze could stir it up and knock pieces free and a harder wind could send it scattering every which way. Either way, sanity was too fragile to leave up to the whims of a chaotic world, so he found himself some simplicity, forced it in wherever he could. Taking the time to organize his clothes or turning the lock on his locker to zero, counting the number of colored tiles on the floor as he walked the halls or the number of times his teacher said a certain word. Stress free simplicity.

He didn't know whether the art thing was simplicity or chaos (a bit of both probably) but it was catharsis. It was something he'd had even before he knew how to find simplicity in everyday life. His mother had been a photographer. She said it was her job to find the beauty and the secrets in the world. She'd wanted Isaac to do the same thing, even if he used a different medium. She'd always supported his art, even when that 'art' was stick figures and finger paintings. Of course, she wasn't actually around when his art surpassed the finger painting stage, but his brother was there and Camden made an effort to be twice as supportive as their mom had been.

The chaos had started sneaking in when Camden went overseas, and it had threatened to tear apart Isaac's sanity entirely when Camden didn't return. That's when he'd started searching for simplicity. It was either that, or give in completely to the grief and pain and chaos and lose himself entirely. He looked for little things to distract him from the ache in his bones from his dads abuse and the ache in his heart from being all alone. And he'd thrown himself into his art. He painted and sketched photographed and every combination of the three. His art and the simplicity were the only things keeping the chaos away for a very long time. His art and the simplicity were the only things keeping him sane.

After Derek gave him the Bite, he didn't have time for his art. He thought being a werewolf would make things better, easier, would keep the chaos at bay. But really it just brought on a new level of chaos, one even the simplicity couldn't fend off long.

He'd tried to find his way back to his art when the chaos started to get too much for him, but just like now, he could not bring anything to life on the blank white paper. He no longer knew how to wield his art as a weapon to push back the chaos, and his claws and fangs couldn't fight it either, and he was slowly losing himself. Little puffs of sanity were drifting away on the winds. But that wasn't what was scaring him now.

What was scaring him now was that he'd found another way to stave off the chaos. A way that wasn't simplicity and art. It was chaotic. What he was doing. The person he was doing it with. The things they were doing to each other. It was chaotic and frightening and he wanted to stop it. That's why he was trying so hard to return to his art even though he knew the art would never welcome him back. If he could just find his way back to his art, the chaos would be pushed away and he would no longer need this thing he had with...no, don't even think the name. The devil always comes when he's called no matter what level of the subconscious speaks his name.

Isaac had never thought of him as the devil before all of this started. He was a nice person. Steadfast in his loyalty to his friends. Brilliant on multiple levels. Sometimes foolishly misguided in his determination. And tough despite the fact that he was so fragile. But his sanity, like Isaac's own, was balanced on the tip of a needle. One day they'd pushed each other too far and the result had been chaotic, but when the smoke cleared the chaos was gone.

The calm that came after the collision of chaos scared Isaac. Scared him because it was something he'd never had before. Scared him because it was something that could never last. It was something he could easily get addicted to. Something that even right now he was craving. And nothing worked to bring it back. It was something only the devil could give him, but everything from the devil came with a price. And he was scared to pay that price. It wasn't much now, just a little shame and secrets and pain. But what happens when that wasn't enough? What happens when the price for destroying the chaos increased? Would he pay the higher price? Give more and more of himself until there was nothing left? And what happens when it stopped working? When the collision of chaos just left him drowning in more chaos? Would he continue seeking that calm. Would he find more of himself to break down and degrade for just a taste of the calm he'd had for only a moment?

Why did it feel like it would be worth it?

No! It wasn't worth it. It wasn't. He'd been hurt enough. Degraded enough. He didn't need to voluntarily subject himself to that again.

He stopped tapping his fingers against the table and snatched up his pencil. He didn't even think about it before he pressed the graphite against the paper and dragged a jagged dark line over so surface. This. This is what he needed. This is what would keep the chaos away. He didn't need more chaos. He just needed to push himself, to force the art out of him if necessary. There was simplicity even in this. Just focusing on the lines form on the page, how they connected to each other and the role they play in the picture as a whole, how they marred the taunting white page like sharing his sin with another. Pushing his faults out of himself and onto the paper.

Time passed and Isaac became increasingly frustrated, increasingly distraught, because it wasn't working. This wasn't working. He'd managed to dig deep and find a bit of art to force out of him, but it wasn't enough. It pushed the chaos back, but he could still feel it there, pressing in around the edges so that it was everywhere he looked and there was no way to escape it. He drew furiously. Dark angry lines cutting across the page, even the curves sharp enough to split the skin just by looking at them. He smudged in shadows with the tips of his fingers, the easy control over his wolf he'd had earlier gone as he fought to keeps his claws from extending and ripping the page to tatters because it wasn't enough. It wasn't enough. It wasn't...

Isaac set his pencil down on the table with a hard clack that reverberated through the empty room. He took a deep breath to calm the fury swirling within him. Obviously this wasn't working. Obviously the devil had already ruined him. He should have realized that when the image on the page took on a likeness to the devil and himself in the midst of their unholy deeds. The devil had gotten under his skin and changed him, warped him. There was nothing he could do but give in. Just return to the devil and give whatever he had to get what he needed.

...

Stiles was in his room when Isaac arrived. It was dark outside. Isaac had been sitting in his room trying to force the art out of him longer than he'd thought. The moon was hanging large in the sky. It had been full only three days ago.

Two months ago had been when Stiles' chaos had first clashed with his own and Isaac had learned the other teen was the devil. There'd been three encounters since.

Isaac still didn't know how it had started, how he'd gotten swept in by the devil. They'd been alone. Stiles had been his usual sarcastic self and Isaac had tried to give as good as he got. And things had exploded into raised voices and swinging fists. And that somehow had ended up with Isaac on his knees while a litany of degrading words spilled from Stiles' lips. And it had been good. So good. Frighteningly good. And in the aftermath, the chaos that was always there chipping at his sanity was gone. And Isaac had run, already promising never to return.

But he had returned because in the days that followed, Isaac had been unable to forget. Though part of him didn't want to forget. He could focus on these things like he did with other tasks. Like simplicity to keep the chaos away. The feel of Stiles fingers carding through his hair, clenching into fists, and yanking hard handfuls that sent a shock of pain through Isaac's scalp. The sound of Stiles' voice as he spewed curses and insults, each word sharp and cutting in a way that made Isaac both shameful and determined. And the taste of Stiles on his lips, heady and strong and bitter and salty.

Stiles had pressed into his mouth hot and hard, with skin soft and smooth. He'd pressed in more than Isaac could take, gagging him and still pressing more until Isaac thought he would suffocate, choke to death on Stiles' cock down his throat. And for some reason, the pain and fear had heightened the sensations, had made it all even better. And Isaac had felt himself growing hard in his pants while he blinked tears from his eyes. He grabbed at Stiles' hips, holding on to them as the other teen had fucked his mouth, each slide passed his lips causing his cock to grow harder and harder until he thought he'd explode.

But Stiles had exploded first. He'd pulled out of Isaac's mouth and sprayed hot ropes of semen over his face. A loud cry had spilled from Stiles' lips as he spilled wave after wave of cum all over Isaac. And when he was done, he'd righted his clothes and stepped away, not even sparing a thought for the obvious hardness in Isaac's pants. And for some reason, Isaac had been okay with that. In fact, just the thought of Stiles helping him get off had cheapened the experience. So Isaac had freed himself from his pants and rubbed himself off right there as quickly as he could while Stiles didn't even glance his way. The orgasm he'd reached had been harder than any he'd had in his life. He'd slumped down on the floor, covered in cum, panting for breath, his mind blissfully empty as his body shook with little waves of pleasure.

As he'd began to regain his senses, he'd waited for the chaos to slip in and destroy his moment of bliss, to make him feel sick with the thought of what had just happened. He was prepared to hate himself and the deed he'd done at just the smallest of pushes from the chaos. But the chaos had not come. It was gone. It was gone.

Isaac had picked himself up off the floor and left with a wounded pride, but he couldn't ignore the peace and clarity of having the chaos gone. It was calming. Not having to fear for his sanity because he'd suddenly transcended to a place where nothing could touch him.

Still Isaac hadn't liked what Stiles had done to him. What he'd allowed Stiles to do to him. He'd vowed to stay away. But who could stay away from the devil after he gave them a taste of what heaven is like?

Isaac had let himself into Stiles' room through the window. The house was empty other than Stiles and the teen was seated at his desk browsing the internet. He didn't seem to have heard Isaac enter. Isaac stood silently by the window, suddenly second guessing coming here. Maybe all he needed to do was try harder. Maybe he could have made the simplicity work, could have forced the art. If he'd tried harder it would have worked. He hadn't been able to stay away before, but he could this time. He knew he could. He didn't need to be here. He didn't need to make deals with devils.

It was the same thing he told himself the last three times he'd ended up here. But he'd never had the strength to leave, never been able to just not come at all.

The last two time he was here they had fucked. He hadn't intended for it to go that way, but somehow it had happened. Just sucking Stiles off hadn't been enough to push the chaos away. He'd needed more. He'd needed to crawl under Stiles' skin and be possessed by him completely. Stiles had seen that need in his eyes and had gave him everything. He'd bent Isaac over and owned his body. He'd fucked him so hard and deep that Isaac's knees were so weak from the pleasure he barely been able to walk away.

Stiles had pressed into him, pushing on through his pain and discomfort, until they were connected in a way Isaac had never even considered. They were tethered together. Tied at a single spot. Isaac had screamed, had wept, had dug his claws in wherever he could reach (well not into Stiles, never into Stiles) while his body shook and trembled. While Stiles had pounded into him, so hot, so full, so..._god_! He'd moaned and begged and pleaded for both it to end and for it to never end and for more, more, more! And Stiles had relented, had given him all he could take, given him everything he needed. Stiles had crawled inside his skin, had taken control of his body, had made him feel, made him sing. Made him unable to break away. Made him addicted. Assured that he would always come back.

He was standing by the window wishing for the strength to leave when Stiles suddenly turned around and looked right at him.

Sometimes Isaac could distinguish between the two. He could look at him and know whether he was dealing with Stiles or the devil. Sometimes, he could watch him switch between the two right before his eyes. Like now. It had been Stiles sitting at the desk browsing the web, but between one heartbeat and the next, kind Stiles was put away and the devil came out to play.

"What are you doing here?" Stiles asked.

"Nothing," Isaac said quickly. "I'll leave."

"No, you came all this way. Stay awhile."

"It's getting late and I don't even remember why I came here. I really should just go."

"I really think you should stay," Stiles said calmly, getting to his feet and opening the drawer of his desk. "You see, there's something I've been wanting to try, but didn't have anyone to try them on. And now here you are, the perfect subject for anything I might even think of doing. So, I must insist that you stay."

Isaac couldn't see what Stiles had pulled out of the drawer because the other teen had turned his back and shielded the objects with his body. Not knowing what Stiles was planning scared him. Not knowing what Stiles was planning excited him.

He heard the sound of a match being struck. He smelled smoke in the air. He stepped away from the window and towards the flickering little flame

…

They cleared an area on a the floor and laid down a drop cloth Stiles said he'd bought for just this occasion. Isaac was naked, spread out on top of the cloth. He was only slightly afraid as he watched what Stiles was doing, kneeling between Isaac's spread thighs. There were five candles in total. Four lit pillar candles and one taper candle. All of them were a different color.

"Now, we have to be careful," Stiles said casually as he picked up the white taper candle and dipped the wick in one of the pillar candles' flames. "I'm not really an expert on this, but common sense says using cheap dollar store candles like these isn't a very good idea." Isaac stared at the flame on the tip of the taper candle, watching it flicker and dance each time Stiles moved it. "I'm not even sure if these are pure paraffin, so who knows how hot they're going to burn."

As he said this, Stiles tipped the candle in his hand and let of bead of wax fall from it. Isaac's breath caught in his throat as the wax seemed to fall in slow motion and landed with a splash on his shoulder. It didn't burn. It was actually a pleasant warmth that only existed for a few seconds before the wax hardened against his skin. His breath released in and audible exhalation.

Stiles acted as if he hadn't just dripped wax onto Isaac as he continued talking. "I read that I should test the wax on myself before using it on you, but why should I risk burning my fragile human skin when any burns you receive would heal in seconds?" The first drop had come from a few feet above him, giving the wax time to cool as it fell through the air. This time Stiles held the candle less than an inch above his skin as he poured the wax. The hot wax fell against Isaac's nipple and it burned. It was like he'd touched the actual flame itself. Isaac didn't know whether the cry that came from his lips were one of pain or pleasure. His wolf soothed the burn in an instant, but he could still feel the heat of the candle wax. It cooled slowly, encasing his nipple in a hardened shell.

"You like a little pain, don't you." Stiles mused. He shifted between Isaac's thighs, brushing against his hard cock. A whimpering moan escaped Isaac's mouth. "That's not your fault," Stiles said, continuing dripping wax on him from varying heights so that the temperature of the wax differed each time, each calling forth a different response from Isaac. "Your father really did a number on you. He hurt you so much you got used to it. Even though you knew it was wrong, it was normal to you. And now he's left you wired in a way that makes you need to be hurt again and again. And I'm such a nice person, such a good loyal friend, that I'm willing to give you whatever you need even though I know it's wrong."

Isaac's body was shaking. Little tremors under his skin as if he was trying to simultaneously move towards and away from the falling wax. He was flushed with heat. His fingers were clenched into tight fists, gripping handfuls of the drop cloth below him. His bottom lip was clenched between his teeth, his fangs extended just a little but still enough to break skin. The tangy taste of blood was heavy on his tongue as he watched Stiles extinguish the taper candle and pick up the red pillar candle.

"On to the main event." Stiles' grin made Isaac want to run away. With everything in his being, he just wanted to get up and run. But he didn't. "Don't worry," Stiles said running the hand that wasn't holding the candle over Isaac's torso, "I'm gonna take care of you."

Isaac's eyes fell closed and he concentrated on his breathing. The simple task of filling his lungs, the up and down motion of his chest as it expanded and contracted with each inhale and exhale. The pillar candles weren't designed for single drops of wax. Stiles poured and hot trail down the center of his abdomen from the bottom of his pecs to the top of his navel. Isaac let out a cry that was definitely more of a pleasured moan than anything even as he flinched away from the heat with his whole body. His cock twitched and dribbled out precum.

He opened his eyes in time to see Stiles smirk and pick up the blue pillar candle in his other hand. The candlelight reflected the wicked intent in the teen's brown eyes. Isaac took a deep shuddering breath. Stiles lowered the two candles above his chest and tipped them over.

…

"Look at you," Stiles said, dragging a finger across the hardened wax on Isaac's chest. "You're so beautiful like this. Like a work of art." Isaac was an unravelled mess. Tears were leaking from the corners of his eyes, drool dripping from the side of his mouth. Whimpers and pleas were spilling from his lips as his whole body fought to get closer to Stiles. His face was flushed, his chest heaving, his arms felt weak as he clenched the drop cloth. Stiles had stopped pouring the wax, but he could still feel the heat in some places. He'd poured it in layers, trapping the heat of the lower layers beneath the cooled upper layers. The dried wax pinched at his skin, slightly uncomfortable but still strangely pleasant. His dick was so hard it ached.

"Hey," Stiles whispered, caressing the side of Isaac's face. "Shhh, hush now. It'll be okay. I'm going to take care of you." Stiles stood and removed his pants, sliding the sweats down his narrow hips and revealing his own hard prick. "I did something just for you. I'm going to give you something extra special, pet." Isaac let out a little whimper at the affection Stiles put into that one word. "Watch me," Stiles ordered.

Isaac eyes kept switching between his wolf's amber and his regular grey-blue as he watched Stiles sit down next to him and lean back, spreading his legs wide. At first, Isaac didn't understand what he was seeing. A blue gem was nestled between Stiles' spread ass cheeks. It was so strange and out of place. The moment understanding came, the cry he released was animalistic and filled with want.

Stiles reached down and wrapped his fingers around the gem, gently beginning to work the butt plug out of him. For just a second, Isaac shifted into full beta form as he fought with the desires building within him. He was fully human again by the time the plug popped free and Stiles let out a near inaudible whimper. His stretched hole clenched as if bidding a sad goodbye to the butt plug and Isaac wanted nothing more than to fill that hole with his cock.

"Don't move," Stiles said, breathless. He moved down Isaac's body and grabbed a tube of lube from behind the row of candles. Isaac watched through half-lidded eyes as Stiles poured the lube into his hand. His eyes fell closed and he let out a keening cry as Stiles began working the slicked hand over his cock. He kept his eyes closed as he felt Stiles' straddling him and the pressure of him digging the heel of his hand into Isaac's shoulder as he leaned forward while his other hand stayed wrapped around Isaac's prick and guided it towards his hole.

Their moans intertwined when Isaac pushed passed the tight ring of muscle. Isaac fought not to move as Stiles slowly pressed back, impaling himself on Isaac's hard shaft until it was fully seated inside of him. "Fuck," Stiles groaned, "You're bigger than I expected." All Isaac could do was let out a pained sounding moan as the teen on top of him rolled his hips.

Stiles pressed his hands against Isaac's waxed covered chest and slowly lifted himself up. His weight caused the wax to crack and peel, pulling at Isaac's skin but only causing an ache so dull he barely noticed it. At the moment, Isaac was barely noticing anything other that Stiles, so hot and tight, wrapped around him, clenching his cock like a vice, squeezing all the sense from his brain. Prior to this, the only flesh his cock had been in was his own hand. That didn't even come close to how it felt being inside of Stiles.

Oh, god, he was inside of Stiles. He'd never even dreamed he'd have this chance. Because, even now while he was the one being fucked, Stiles was in charge of this whole affair. Stiles had the power and control. Isaac could only have what Stiles chose to give him. And what Stiles was giving him now was brain-numbing pleasure. Stiles was riding his cock. Riding him hard and fast. His fingers were digging through the layers of wax on Isaac's chest, making it flake off, and scratching against his skin. And it was good. So good. So good!

Isaac's claws extended without him bidding them and tore through the cloth beneath him. His eyes warred between amber and blue. His fangs were cutting into his lips as he tried to hold in the shameful sounds he was making. He couldn't resist the urge to buck his hips and bury himself into Stiles' flushed body. Each thrust took him deeper into hot, moist, tight, oh god, Heaven! And the words falling from Stiles lips! A filthy tirade of carnal and perverse degradation intermingled with grunts and moans.

"You like that, huh? Like having your cock up my ass. Fuck. Look at you, so needy. And do you hear yourself, moaning like a little bitch. You're nothing more than a whore, aren't you Isaac. I needy, cock hungry whore. Admit it. Say you're a whore."

"Yes," Isaac groaned, not even knowing what he was agreeing to. "Yes, I'm a whore." The words made no sense to his ears, he just knew that they were what Stiles wanted to hear and he would do or say anything Stiles wanted as long as he continued making him feel like this.

"That's right, you're a little whore. But you're my whore, aren't you."

"Yes, yours." The moment the words left his mouth, Isaac's wolf howled inside of him and he felt like something just snapped. His whole world shook as his orgasm exploded out of him. The scream that tore from his lips took the form of Stiles' name. It was only with a very dull sense of control in the back of his mind he managed to keep from grabbing the human's hips and dig his claws into his flesh. Instead his claws punctured the drop cloth and scraped against the floor as his body arched and his nerves sang. His cock spilled wave after wave of cum into Stiles' body. His eyes rolled into the back of his head. His toes curled, the claws there extending as well and also digging into the floor. Stiles clenched tighter around him, rolling his hips, trying to milk every last drop out of Isaac's prick.

Isaac collapsed boneless on the floor. His body trembled with the aftershocks of the most earth shattering orgasm of his life. He lay there in a blissed out haze, trying to catch his breath and gather his senses. A little whimper escaped his lips when he felt Stiles moving on his oversensitized cock. Stiles slid Isaac out of him and sat down, still straddling the wolf's waist. His head felt heavy as he forced himself to turn and see what Stiles was doing. Stiles' hand was wrapped around his own cock, stroking it quickly. It only took a few strokes before Stiles was crying out and shooting his load, spilling thick ropes of cum all over Isaac's wax coated chest.

Stiles rolled off of Isaac and laid on the floor next to him, riding his own post-orgasm aftershocks. They laid there for a few minutes. The only sounds in the room was their breathing. After a few awhile, Stiles got up and started cleaning, putting away the candles and lube and gathering his scattered clothing. Isaac watched him for a minute or so, before getting to his feet and gathering his own clothes. He knew from the way Stiles couldn't even look at him that the devil had gone and this really was the kind human boy with him now.

"If you need a shower..." Stiles started to say, staring down at his desk and fiddling with a piece of paper.

"I'll be fine," Isaac cut him off. He didn't know how to deal with a kind, remorseful Stiles. He couldn't reconcile that with the devil he knew Stiles truly was. Isaac pulled on his jeans and shoes, not bothering with his shirt because it would just stick to the mess of cum and wax all over his torso. He'd process the disgust he felt about that later. Right now, he just needed to leave. He needed to go. Get out of here before Stiles decided to do something that would make the chaos come back. His head was clear right now. His sanity was safe. The devil had given him clarity. But what he giveth he also taketh away. Isaac had to leave.

The spoke no other words at Isaac quickly made his way over to the window. He was out the house, across the yard, and half way down the street in under a minute. He convinced himself that the noise he heard was not Stiles' releasing a frustrated scream.

…

Thinking about it, Isaac really shouldn't have been surprised that Stiles' grip on his sanity was a firm as he'd like to believe. What sane person willingly ran with wolves? Stiles was only human and there was chaos all around. Human weren't equipped to walk through chaos and come out unscathed. They either adapted or they broke. Isaac didn't know whether the devil in Stiles was him adapting or breaking. Isaac didn't know whether his dalliances with the devil was him adapting or breaking. Whichever one, it kept the chaos away.

Even though he hated it. Hated what Stiles was doing to him. Hating that he was allowing it to happen. He hated being hurt. Hated being insulted. Hated being a whore. Stiles' whore. Stiles'. He hated being Stiles'. He hated that he couldn't actually hate it because he loved what it gave him. He loved the clarity. He loved the feel of having someone else taking control of his chaotic life for just a few moments. He loved the days and weeks it gave him where he wasn't constantly searching for something to tether his sanity on to. The time he had where he didn't need to focus his entire being on dragging out simple things until he had a delusion of control.

What Stiles gave him wasn't control. It was more chaos. Stiles' chaos was so big, so strong. At first, he'd thought that their chaos collided and cancelled each other out, but he was wrong. Stiles' chaos was bigger. More powerful. It was a chaos that swallowed his own, leaving Isaac chaos free but Stiles with an even bigger load to carry. And Isaac would have felt bad about adding to Stiles' chaos, but he didn't. Stiles deserved to have more chaos. He deserved to have it suffocate him, ruin him. He deserved to drown in his chaos. For what he was doing to Isaac, how he was pulling him apart and warping him, Stiles deserved all the chaos in the world. He was the devil. The devil revelled in chaos. He controlled it. Reigned over it. What was a little more chaos to the devil? Nothing. No skin off his back.

Except, Stiles wasn't always the devil, was he? Stiles wasn't always able to handle the chaos. Stiles was kind. He was loyal. He was spastic and weird. He was a good person. He didn't deserve all the chaos around him. Except he was the devil. He was. But had Stiles become the devil to deal with being overburden with chaos? Or was he overburdened with chaos because he was the devil?

Isaac didn't care. It didn't matter to him. Everyone had chaos. Everyone dealt with it their own way. And Stiles made Isaac's chaos go away. Made it disappear. Stiles worked better than anything Isaac had ever tried. Better than searching for simplicity. Better than losing himself in his art. Sure the price for this freedom from chaos was high and steadily rising, but Isaac wasn't going to depend on Stiles forever.

In fact, he was never going back to him again. Never again. He didn't need to prostrate himself before the devil just to deal with a little chaos. He'd managed it on his own for this long. He could go back to doing it his way. Because using Stiles was crippling him. Making him accustomed to having others take care of his problems for him. And when the price became too high and he had nothing left to give and he would have to go back to doing things alone, he would no longer know how. He would be weak. So weak that the chaos would press in around him and break him, destroy him. Pick apart his sanity piece by piece and send it scattering on the wind.

So, no. He would not be going back to Stiles. He would never go there again. He couldn't risk weakening, crippling. He couldn't do it. Besides, he didn't need Stiles. He didn't need him. Didn't want him. Why should he willingly put himself through what Stiles was doing to him? Stiles was hurting him. Hurting him. Isaac had been hurt enough. The reason he'd become a wolf was so that he would be strong enough to stop anyone from hurting him ever again. So why would he voluntarily get hurt?

No. He was done. He was done. Done with being hurt. Done with Stiles. He could manage on his own from now on.

…

Days passed. Then a week. Another. Then two more.

Isaac twirled the pencil around his fingers. Focusing his mind on the simple task of keeping it spinning. He closed his eyes and saw the blank white paper on the table in front of him emblazoned on the inside of his eye lids. To his surprised, the paper grew and changed in his mind. No longer paper. Now a canvas, large and blank, filled with possibilities. An image to adorn the canvas came easily.

Isaac smiled and put down his pencil, getting up to gather his paints instead. He set up an easel and mixed some colors on his pallet. He could feel the chaos all around him. Reaching for him with dark, desperate hands. But Isaac shrugged it away as best he could as he swirled his brush into the paints and set it against the canvas.

Time passed and his hands were shaking. He'd broken into a cold sweat. His fangs were digging into his lip. "Please, please, please," he mumbled to himself as he continued dragging the brush across the canvas. "Please. Please."

But no one heard his pleas. His brain screamed at him. This wasn't enough. It wasn't enough. It wasn't enough. His face screwed in anger. No. He would make it enough. He could make it enough. The chaos pressed in around him. Heavy on his shoulders. But he would not lose. He would not give in. He could do this. He'd done it for years. It had been enough before, so it would be enough now.

He overlaid the yellow paint of the canvas with an orange giving the candle flame a warmer glow. He dropped his brush. He dropped his pallet. His eyes burned amber. His claws extended. A howl tore from his lips as he dug his nails into the canvas and ripped it apart. Because it wasn't enough. It wasn't what he needed. It would never be enough again. He was ruined. Crippled. The chaos was pressing it around him like a thick miasma clogging his nose and throat trying to suffocate him. Trying to make him give in. There was only one way to make it go away. There was only one way to rid himself of the chaos.

He didn't know which would be worse to give in to.


End file.
